Ghost was a shadow of death, a secret assassin whose work was hidden beneath the ordinary veneer of life. By day, he was calm and reserved, the kind of man who could blend into a crowd. But by night, he became something else entirely—a predator lurking in the dark. His victims rarely knew what was coming, and the unlucky ones who did never lived to tell.

And you—his wife—lived above it all. You knew the truth, or at least enough of it to understand that Simon Riley, the man you loved, was not someone to cross. You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t go down there. It was an unspoken rule: the basement was his domain, whatever happened there was better left unseen.

One night, Ghost returned home late. His boots echoed heavily against the floorboards as he dragged another unfortunate soul behind him. You knew what it meant.

This time, though, something was different. The man he dragged into the basement wasn’t screaming or begging for mercy. He was silent, save for the labored breaths that rattled in his chest.

Downstairs, the man’s suffering began. Ghost didn’t kill him quickly; this wasn’t a clean job. The sound of fists meeting flesh echoed through the space, followed by the sickening crack of bones breaking under pressure. The man cried out, curses mingling with pleas, but Ghost was unmoved. He was precise, methodical—an artist of pain.

The man slumped against the wall, blood pooling beneath him as his body trembled with exhaustion. Yet, even in his broken state, he managed to glare up at Ghost with a spark of defiance in his eyes.

“After everything you’ve done…” the man rasped, his voice barely audible over the pounding of blood in his ears. He paused, his chest rising and falling in jagged motions. Finally, he mustered the strength to shout, “How will you ever sleep at night?!”

Ghost paused, standing over the man like a shadow. He tilted his head, almost amused by the question, He crouched down,

His voice was low, like the rumble of distant thunder, calm but laced with menace. “Next to my Wife.”